Fourth Down
by walroose
Summary: America invites himself over to England's house to watch the football game...the American football game. England isn't so happy about it. Oneshot, USxUK, some mild language and a lot of football talk.


**I love American football, so I thought this would be a fun idea for a oneshot. My sister, who doesn't quite know all the finer details of the game, was the inspiration, and some of England's comments are actually real quotes from her. xD**

**I used the teams from this year's London game, the New England Patriots and the St. Louis Rams, and (for this game, I mean) America is rooting for the Patriots.**

**Fourth Down**

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"Yes! Go! Go, go, go…okay, okay, now go down, don't fumble… Yes!" America was yelling and gesturing at the TV animatedly while England watched on in mild confusion.

It wasn't so much the fact that America was screaming at people that couldn't possibly hear him. No, England could understand getting excited while watching a game on TV. It was _what_ he was saying that confused the Brit.

_What the hell? First he's yelling at them to run, but then he wants them to fall? Does he know how contradictory he sounds? What an idiot. _He folded his arms and sulked for a few minutes.

When America had called yesterday and asked if he could come over to watch 'the game' at England's house, England had readily agreed. Of course. Who wouldn't want a little company to watch a football game? There were four games being played that day, and because America hadn't specified, England was ready to watch any and all of them.

Then America had shown up. And promptly turned on an American football game.

England had forgotten. Every year for the last few years, about the middle of the American football season, America sent over a couple teams to play a game in Wembley Stadium. He was trying to find a fan base for his signature sport in any country but his own, trying to spread his influence even further. Well, there might be some in the country who found the sport interesting, but England was not one of them. He never watched the game, and he quite simply didn't get it.

Still, for the sake of his guest and the tentative relationship the two of them had, he'd tried to make an effort to understand it a little bit better. But in order to gain this understanding, he'd made the mistake of asking America questions.

When America had been yelling, "Run! Come on, run! Yes! First down!" England had been watching the screen closely. The guy with the ball had run, first sideways, then forwards, then after he crossed a yellow line (which wasn't always there) he'd run sideways again until he was out of bounds. No points had been scored. He hadn't made it to the end zone. And yet America was so excited because he'd gotten a 'first down' which England understood was important, though he didn't know exactly how they worked. So he'd asked a seemingly logical question.

"But where the hell is he running _to_?"

America had laughed at first, then realized that England was serious. After that, he'd given England a scathing look before briefly explaining the concept of downs and the different ways of scoring. Though a 'brief' explanation in American football seemed to come with a lot of buts, ors, and ifs. England had tuned America out after the first minute or so, coming away with only a vague sense of what was going on in the game, and the desire to learn more completely gone.

So, hours later, it still just looked like a lot of huge, sweaty men falling on each other. But at last, it was almost over. England had just experienced his _second_ two-minute warning, which was essentially an excuse for another commercial break, but also signaled that they were nearing the end of the game. America was just as lively as ever, though, when the game came back on, literally sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Yes! Touchdown!" he cried only a few seconds after the game restarted, jumping up and nearly knocking his glass of Coke over. "Did you see that catch!?"

"Calm down before you break something!" England shouted, forcing America to sit back down on the sofa. America complied, but his body was tense, like a ball of condensed energy. Apparently, the team America favored, the New England Patriots (he'd snorted when he'd heard the name) had just gained the lead; but it turned out it wasn't quite so simple as that.

"Hey, what's up with the timeout?" America asked to no in particular. Then he turned and looked at England. "Why are they taking a timeout?"

"How they hell should I- ugh, of course, a commercial!" England crossed his arms in disbelief, ignoring America muttering to himself as a familiar jingle played.

"Holy shit, they're going for two!" America eventually concluded. He looked at England with wide eyes, excitement and nervousness shining in them. "It's so risky! But they're trying to gain a four point lead, so that the Rams can't tie with a field goal…but there's a whole two minutes left, nearly! And they have two timeouts! If we miss, then St. Louis can win with just three points. It seems like a pointless risk."

"Uh-huh."

America seemed to sense England's lack of sincerity. He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I know _you_ don't care, but I do, okay?" He faced the TV again, waiting for the game to come back from commercial.

England felt a tiny twinge of guilt for having upset America. Their current relationship was…well, uncertain, to say the least. Despite their constant verbal sparring, he and America had been with each other off and on, romantically and physically, for the last few decades. But lately they simply hadn't seen enough of each other to maintain any semblance of a relationship, and England was afraid he was ruining any chance he might have had for the next few years. God knew America could hold a petty grudge. So he might as well try to do something before it was too late.

He reached across and took one of America's hands in his own. It was a little clammy, but he held it tightly nonetheless. "Look, I'm sure they'll get it," he said. His voice held a confidence he didn't really feel, but he hoped it was enough anyways.

America turned and looked at him with his huge, blue eyes. "You think so?" he asked, sounding almost like a child. England would never admit it, but he loved that trusting, naïve nature.

"Of course." He applied a little pressure to the hand in his. "They're Americans; they can do anything, right?" He knew that America wouldn't notice the tones of sarcasm laced through his voice, so he didn't even try to stop himself. It had the desired effect, and America's resolve had renewed.

"Yeah, you're right! Oh, it's back!" America focused intently on the TV, though he still held England's hand with a firm grip.

America waited with bated breath for this single play, squeezing England's hand harder with every passing second until it became quite painful. England grimaced but bore with it, also watching the TV screen and trying to make himself feel interested in the game.

The ball was snapped and the quarterback stepped back, visibly looking left and right and not finding any open receivers. He hesitated, and just as America started shouting, "Go! Go!" the player seemed to respond, running for the end zone himself. England noticed that he ran painfully slow, but as he dove for the white line, none of the opposing players could stop him. However, he landed on _top_ of the line, and England wasn't entirely sure what happened. Did he get it? It wasn't until the referee on screen held up two arms and America cried, "Yes!" that he knew that it was the desired result. He smiled.

"Told you, didn't I?" he said smugly to America.

"Yeah, yeah, but now the defense has to hold for two minutes." America sighed and settled back down on the couch. "And God knows how _that's_ been going all day."

Well, God may have known, but England was only so-so on the fact, so he just nodded and leaned back too. America's hand was still holding his tightly, but much looser than before, thankfully.

After a kickoff and _another_ commercial break, it was the defense's turn. Even with his limited knowledge of American football, England could tell that they weren't doing well, and America's soft noises of dissatisfaction reaffirmed that point. But he couldn't do anything about it, so he kept quiet and just watched the St. Louis team march down the field much too easily.

"Shit. We're gonna lose. After all that, they're gonna score, and we're gonna freaking lose!" America muttered darkly as a 14 yard completion was made by the Rams.

Still, despite his pessimism, the Patriot defense seemed to perk up with less than thirty seconds left and he began to get excited again. "They have to go for a Hail Mary!" he declared as St. Louis stopped the clock with 3 seconds left. England wondered if this was a good thing as his mouth hung open in disbelief at the commencement of another commercial.

America explained what a Hail Mary pass was before the game came back, so England could fully appreciate the winner-takes-all play. "The Rams are gonna heave the ball to the end zone, trying to score a touchdown just as time runs out," he said, surprisingly calmly. It seemed he had resigned himself to whatever fate had in store for him and his team.

The ball was snapped and the quarterback stood back in the pocket firmly, not harassed by the minimum three rushers, his eyes far down field. Finally, after the clock had already reached 0:00, he threw the ball some 40 yards, and even England felt his gut clench as he followed the arc of the ball down into a mass of receivers and defenders in the end zone.

"Holy shit…holy shit it's," America breathed. The ball was bobbled a few times and it was unclear who had possession. Then his face split into a huge smile, and his hand slipped out of England's as he raised both arms excitedly. "Intercepted! We got it! We won! Yes! Oh God, that was awesome!" America went on talking animatedly about the final play, pointing things out as the slow-motion replay appeared on the screen. But England wasn't interested in the game anymore now that it was finished; he was watching America as he waved his arms around, talking loudly (almost shouting, but not quite), his eyes bright and childlike in their enthusiasm. He was pretty cute when he was excited, England had to admit.

A moment later, America glanced over and noticed that England was watching him. England felt his cheeks redden a little. "What?" America asked, grinning.

"Nothing." Now England turned back to the TV screen, forcing himself to frown. He couldn't look at that infuriating, smug smile. It was too irritating. But just a few seconds after he turned, he felt a pair of soft lips on his cheek. Surprised, he looked back at America, who was still hovering only a few centimeters from his face.

He spoke in a low voice by England's ear. "Thanks for watching my silly game with me. I know it's not really your _thing_…" He was smiling.

England couldn't stand that tone of voice, and America knew it. After only a few seconds he rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it," he whispered, grabbing America by the shirt and pulling him in for a real kiss, their first in far too long.

American football. England still didn't get it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But…well, maybe it wasn't _all_ bad. He'd let America send a couple teams again next year, at least. As long as America promised to watch the game with him.

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**The fact that I live in Massachusetts has NOTHING to do with America being a Patriots fan, of course. : P**

**In case you were wondering, I didn't use actual events from this year's game, because to be honest, there wasn't all that much drama by the fourth quarter (don't hate me, Rams fans!). xD**

**EDIT: 1/23/2013 - I realized I had left a sentence unfinished...so I just fixed it. No biggie. xD**


End file.
